Always Dragging That Horse Around
by Sagacious Rage
Summary: A collection of short works examining the love, marriage, and everything in between of Loki and Sigyn.
1. Firestarter

**Note:** In an effort to win her over, Loki follows Sigyn out into the woods and "happens" to meet her there, then teaches her how to use magic to start a fire. Afterwards they have a conversation which is mired in misunderstandings and clashing self-worth issues, and they part on very bad terms. Sigyn goes home, dejected and convinced the brief affair has ended. It does not take long for her bratty little sister, Unnr, to pick up on her state of weakness and go in for the kill.

* * *

Sigyn managed to endure supper without bursting into tears. Her mother remarked on her sullen state, but did not ask the cause, and Sigyn did not offer it. As soon as she had finished eating, she retired to her room, curled up on her bed, and began to weep bitterly.

"What's wrong with you?" Unnr asked, wandering in as if she were welcome there. Which she was not. "Did you get kicked out of the local nest of vipers for not being creepy enough?"

"Leave me alone, Unnr," Sigyn wiped her eyes and clutched her pillow. "And get out of my room."

Unnr giggled and sat on her bed. "No. This is much more entertaining. Oh," her eyes widened, "did you _meet_ somebody out in the woods? Was it your _prince_?"

"I do not know what you are talking about." Sigyn squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could make Unnr disappear.

Unnr made herself comfortable and Sigyn could hear the crackling of paper. Her blood ran cold even before Unnr began to speak. "Here, let me refresh your memory." She cleared her throat and began to read aloud in a mockingly dramatic tone. "'_My Lady Sigyn, I thought I knew all the magisters in this realm—_'."

Sigyn sat straight up and snatched the letter out of Unnr's hand, tearing it in the process. "You spiteful wretch! How dare you!"

Unnr sneered. "If you ruin your betrothal to Theoric, especially by rutting his _enemy_, nobody will want you. Especially not the prince. Because you are awful and everybody at court would hate you. Which I am sure even the mad prince knows, which is why he met you out in the middle of the woods and not where anybody could actually _see_ you together. And I would marry Prince Balder anyway. And the only chance you had to do a good thing for _anybody_ would be a complete waste. And then Father would kill you." Unnr smirked in triumph.

Sigyn crumpled the letter in her fists, her rage seething as she glared at her sister. The paper began to smoke as magic born of anger started to seep out of her hands. Unnr's smirk faded and her eyes widened in fear. Sigyn felt a tremble of power in her chest.

"When did you learn that? You do not know magic." Unnr edged further away.

Sigyn's sadness welled up, because she did not know magic before that day. And after so enraging Prince Loki, he would not teach her any more, she was sure. And then she remembered Loki's offer to murder their father. And she began to imagine the look on Unnr's face if her untouchable hero patriarch, who always sheltered her from the consequences of her words and actions, and promised her everything she desired, was cold and dead. And how free Sigyn herself would feel if she could finally live outside the constant shadow of her father's rage and disdain.

Sigyn had turned down Loki's offer. Without even thinking, she had turned him down. And later, when he offered his love she had turned him down again and it was over. She would not hear from him again. Her one chance to stop being acted upon and start acting on her own wishes and she had balked and it was gone and it was so very _funny_ because none of them would ever even know!

She started to laugh, softly at first but growing in volume and hysteria. The paper caught flame.

"You are burning your letter!" Unnr protested, standing up and backing toward the door.

"It does not matter," Sigyn laughed helplessly as the letter burned to ash. "You will not ever know how close you came." And then she blinked as she realized Loki probably would have killed Unnr, too, if she had asked. And she collapsed in fresh gales of helpless, despairing laughter.

Unnr left without another word.


	2. Hope is the Thing with Feathers

Sigyn bent over the barre, stretching the muscles in the back of her leg, feeling the tendons warm and loosen, tension sliding from her, when she realized the one thing she hated the most about being engaged.

Her betrothed took her for granted.

Even after she had caught the eye of Prince Loki, a fact she was still deeply uncomfortable with, Theoric never showed any signs of being at all concerned that she might succumb to his charms. And why would he? If she were unfaithful, he would break the engagement and find some other family desperate to marry their daughter off to a rich man's son. Perhaps next time he'd be lucky enough to find one more to his liking. The sort of woman Theoric preferred was tall, busty, curvy, beautiful, quiet, and helpful on the hunt.

Sigyn was not the sort of woman Theoric preferred. She was quiet, so he found her tolerable. But she was not what he wanted and he didn't bother hiding this fact from her.

Which she felt was rather unkind, as he was hardly what she wanted, either, but at least she tried to pretend otherwise.

She lowered her leg and lifted the other to the barre, bending at the waist and breathing out slowly.

Most of the time she did her best not to think about it. They would not make her marry until she finished her education. And it would be decades before she completed her training to become an advocate. Her father had been deeply suspicious of her motives when she announced her intention to follow that course of study, but she argued her reasoning so expertly that by the end he agreed it would be the best place for her.

Although what she really wanted to do was dance. But to be a dancer required no education. She traded her talent for a few more years of freedom. She had no regrets.

Once she had finished her warmup, she started the music. A simple song, a lone flute, playing the Song of the Falling Leaf. It was her favorite song, her favorite dance. The brilliant flash of beauty before the inevitable decay into winter.

So lost was she in the music and the dance that she did not realize she was being watched until she was done.

Somebody started applauding slowly behind her, and she turned to see Loki advancing, grinning as he clapped. Irritated, she stalked to the bar and grabbed her towel and began wiping the sweat from her brow and chest. "I am glad I provided you some entertainment, my lord," she smiled mockingly.

"Oh, you did." And his smile turned into a leer. "I did not know you were so flexible. You become more alluring every time I see you."

"And you become more irritating, my lord." She crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you even doing here, this facility is for students only."

He laughed. "I go where I want." He stroked her cheek with the back of his forefinger, and she shivered at the icy touch.

"You need to leave," she said, lifting her chin.

"I do not wish to. I want to watch you dance." He stepped away, spreading his arms out. "Perhaps you know The Springtime Etude? That one is a particular favorite."

"I will not dance." She said firmly. "Not while you're here."

He lounged on a bench, stretching his legs in front of him. "Why not? Afraid your betrothed would get jealous? Let's make him jealous. Do that spinny-flexible thing again, I really liked that." He waved his fingers at her imperiously, still grinning, though there was a cruel glint in his eye.

"No." She answered honestly. "I just do not want to."

"Why," he leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

"Because it makes me happy. Because I only do it when I want to, and not when I am told." She arched an eyebrow at him, daring him.

"I could order you to." He leaned back again, his lips curling cruelly. "I am a prince, after all. You always seem to forget."

She shrugged. The leaf fluttered in the breeze, the sun catching it, blazing gold in the sunlight. "You could order me to."

"I could order you to do a lot of things, you know. Not just dance." He stretched his arm out along the top of the bench.

She stood motionless. The leaf turned, pointed downward, lost the sunlight, dimmed. "There is very little you could not demand of me."

"Very little?" He scoffed. "By my reckoning it's more like 'nothing'."

She shook her head, tightening her lips. The leaf came to rest of the forest floor, with the others, brown and fragile and dead. "You can't make me want to."

He held her gaze for an uncomfortably long time, neither moving, a range of emotions playing over his face as she did her best to keep her expression impassive. And then he stood and advanced toward her. She swallowed and held her ground, which was ridiculous. He towered over her, his fingertips touching her chin to tilt her face up to him.

"Until you want to, m'lady," he said softly, something sorrowful haunting his eyes that she could not place.

"Thank you, my lord," she whispered, looking away.

She waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps echoing. And then began practicing The Springtime Etude.


	3. A Boys Best Friend

**Note**: In the RP that inspired all of this, we decided that it would be more interesting if Loki and Sigyn's sons were still alive. So this is how that happened. Also I know I go their names wrong but it's too late to fix that now. Also, at the point this story takes place, Loki and Sigyn have decided to keep their marriage a secret.

* * *

The boys were six months old when their grandmother first came to call.

She did not know the full extent of their relation, of course. Of that Sigyn was reasonably sure. Loki had no way of knowing she was with child when he left. And she herself did not know which day they were sparked within her. It was entirely possible that they were Theoric's children.

But then they were born. Larger than most, especially for twins, squalling and… blue.

Exhausted from the rigors of a difficult labor, Sigyn held them close to her breast before the nursemaids took them to bathe them and whispered a spell she had been practicing, just in case.

They looked like any other child by the time they were taken away. And several seemingly disparate details about her husband suddenly fit into place.

The delivery had been so difficult, in fact, that Sigyn was forced to refuse the Queen's visit for several months while she recovered. She found Frigga's concern unnerving. But if she knew of what she and Loki had done, wouldn't she have stopped the wedding?

The Allfather and his wife had been eager to apologize for Loki's behavior ever since he began to woo her, to both her family and Theoric's. This was probably more of the same.

But soon enough she was able to receive visitors, and so the queen came to meet her first grandchildren. Sigyn sat in the living room, awaiting her arrival, and wondered if it was possible to die of irony.

* * *

"What joy to come from such pain," Frigga held Nori gently, stroking his cheek with her fingertip while Sigyn suckled Varli.

"As much as my longing for their absent father pains me, I cannot help but find joy in my sons," Sigyn answered, as honestly as she could. She winced and laughed a little. "Though sometimes I wish they were not so… enthusiastic in their nursing."

Frigga gave her a look of deep sympathy. "I well know that trial of motherhood. I will send one of my handmaidens with a balm I once used myself."

Sigyn smiled and bowed her head. "How generous you are to my family, your highness."

"It is the least I can do, Lady Sigyn." Frigga was quiet for a moment, and when Sigyn looked back up, she caught her looking at Nori with a look of unfathomable sadness.

"I am grateful all the same," Sigyn said carefully.

Frigga looked up and smiled, the grief in her eyes carefully hidden away. Sigyn finished nursing Varli. and offered him to the queen. "Would you like to hold him as well?" She smiled. "I think he is the more sweet-natured of the two. As silly as that may be to say, with how young they are."

"I think a mother's love can reveal things that most people miss," Frigga said fondly and handed Nori off to her, accepting Varli. Her smile widened as she looked down at the happily burbling Varli. "Oh, yes, he is the sweet one, is he not?"

Sigyn held Nori close, stroking his hair. "The birthing went so long that they thought Nori would surely perish in the womb before he could be born. But he was quite determined to meet us, it seems." She laughed. "Varli is content to let me hold him for hours on end. Nori has less patience for such things."

"You have fine, strong boys, Lady Sigyn. I am grateful that you chose to allow me to share in this joy with you." Frigga stroked Varli's hair, her eyes unfathomable though she was smiling.

"Of course, your highness. You honor me, my house, and my sons with your visit. I would not dream of denying you."

Frigga looked up, her hand still curled over Varli's head, her posture almost protective. "Perhaps you will call on the palace with them. My lord husband so delights in children, and would gladly give them his blessing."

Sigyn hesitated for one heartbeat, then two. Frigga's words and smiles are welcoming, but her eyes are not. It had long been rumored that she had the gift of prophecy but refuses to share her visions. And yet, in every word and gesture there seemed to be a hidden warning.

And in that next heartbeat, Sigyn made a choice.

"Perhaps, your highness. But I cannot say when. I am afraid I am not yet well enough to travel."

"Your health is the most important thing, my dear," Frigga's hand relaxed slightly, and she bowed her head to kiss Varli. "Please, let me know when you are well enough to make the journey, and I will make the necessary arrangements. But not a moment before."


	4. Though All the World Betray Thee

This is what Nori remembers

His father loves him. He tells him stories and teaches him things. He listens to him when he has something to say. Something that nobody else but his mother does until they leave Asgard, many years later.

Nori is a quiet child, prone to dark moods and tearful days. He is plagued by nightmares and stomach aches for reasons he does not understand. His father does not know how to handle this, something Nori realizes when he is very young. So he goes to his mother for comfort.

Nori knows that Varli has more in common with their father. They speak of magic often. Varli is continually fascinated, tackling the new challenges their father presents to him with zeal, and often mastering them with alacrity.

Nori does not care for magic. He learns enough to maintain his own glamour, and has a passing interest in applying runes and charms to physical objects. But the greater applications bore him. Varli sneers at this, and tries to push him into studying the arts as he does. But their father does not. And he listens to Nori when he speaks of his own interests, in drawing and poetry and blades.

His father is always suitably impressed, and pays close attention even though Nori knows that he does not share his interests.

It is love. It is love as sure as the way his mother sings softly and soothes him after he awakens, screaming with the nightmares. As sure as the way his grandmother brushes his hair and tells him stories. As sure as the way Aunt Valkyrie tosses him in the air and wrestles with him. As sure as the way Aunt Alfrún never says a word even though she always _sees_ when he sneaks an extra sweet. As sure as the way his brother tries to force him to share his interests, because he cannot imagine a life without Nori by his side.

His father is terrifying and remote in a way the others aren't. Magic swirls around him like a cloud, obscuring Nori's vision. He can never get a good look at him. He is too big to see all at once, too complex for his child's mind to comprehend. His father loves them, and he loves their mother. Nori is sure of this, at least.

He is eight and his father is visiting. It is winter time, and too cold to go outside. The fire warms the living room, and his mother sits at the hearth, helping Varli with his sums. Father watches them, his eyes warm with love, though something deeper lurks in his gaze. Something Nori can never really name, no matter how many times he remembers this event or others similar.

He approaches his father, feeling nervous as he always does, though he is always received warmly. He climbs up on the settee next to him, close but not touching, examining him closely.

His father turns his attention to him, keeping silent and still. As if he knows any sudden word or movement might spook his reticent son into silence. His mother glances at them, but makes no other move to indicate that she has noticed.

Finally, Nori works up the courage to speak. "Your ring matches my mother's." He says, pointing to his father's wedding band.

"Because we are married," his father nods, holding his hand out so that Nori may examine it more closely. "When two people are wed, it is customary for them to wear matching rings."

Nori looks closely at his father's garb. "You wear much green."

His father nods again. "It is the color of growing things, of life. It pleases me."

Nori peers at a particularly elaborate belt buckle, positioned over his father's heart. "That belt buckle is a wolf," he says, daring to reach out and touch the elaborately carved piece, the lips drawn back over the fangs in a cruel snarl, an emerald glistening in the wolf's eye.

His father extends his arm and urges him into his lap. Nori sits uneasily, his father's skin is cold, colder than his own. He is not accustomed to this. His father rubs his back, and Nori eases slightly.

"Your uncle awarded that to me for valor in battle during my tour in Nornheim." His father says, his voice soft with an edge of pain.

"Is that where you were when my brother and I were born?" Nori asks, having heard tales of Nornheim before.

His father nods, and smooths his hand over his hair. "It is. A poor substitute for what I missed."

Nori looks at the belt buckle again, in the flickering shadows cast by the firelight, it appears to move. His mind is alight with visions of great battles and fierce wolves. He is both intrigued and frightened. "It pleases me very much." Though he knows "pleases" is not quite the right word for all the feelings this thing evokes in him.

His father smiles, and for the first time, Nori feels as if they understand one another. "Perhaps some day you will display great valor, and I will award it to you."

Nori nods, his resolution firm. "I will, Father. You will be proud of me."

His father smiles, and like all of his father's smiles it is not completely happy. "I already am, my son."

Nori feels a rush of happiness, and can find no more words. So they speak no more, but simply sit in silence until Nori falls asleep, his cheek against his father's shoulder, his father's arm holding him close.


	5. No is the Saddest Experience

As soon as Thor was banished, Sigyn began making arrangements. Things were changing, and quickly, and while Loki assured her that he had it all in hand, she could not risk her sons' safety.

By the time the Odinsleep was announced, Nori and Varli were at her elder sister's estate, far in the mountains. An imperfect solution, but the best she could do. She spent her time in the empty villa, trying to focus on her work and ignore the gossip coming from the palace. But she did not have to wait long before she was sent for.

It was difficult to choose something to wear. She eventually decided on a gown she had very little use for under normal circumstances, with a bodice and underskirt that was more revealing than what she usually wore, and flowing sheer overskirts.

Not quite fit for a queen, but enough to suggest the idea.

She wore a cloak and hood, in an attempt to protect herself from prying eyes as she made her way to the antechamber where Loki was expecting her. The attention was unnerving. She was used to being overlooked in a crowd. It occurred to her that the cloak was a mistake, the added air of mystery only made her presence more interesting. She walked as quickly as she could, flanked by his guards, and fought the urge to hunch her shoulders at the weight of all the eyes.

It was with no small measure of relief that she stepped into his private chambers, and her relief grew even greater when he gestured to the guards, sending them away. She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her when she pulled off her cloak and met his eyes, bright with mirth.

"Thank you for inviting me, your highness," she curtsied deeply.

He stepped forward and slid the cloak from her shoulders, looking over her with obvious appreciation. "I only regret that I could not send for you sooner." He met her eye, his lips curving in a smile. "Your highness."

Smiling, she glanced down. "Please, do not place titles on me prematurely."

He laughed and caught her hand in his and slipped his other arm around her waist. "Is it a coronation you want?" He grinned and began to dance with her, moving them in time to a music only he could hear. "Perhaps we shall have a royal wedding as well? All the pomp and circumstance you can stand."

She could not help but laugh. "That would be very little, my lord husband. Besides, we're already married."

He pressed icy cold lips to her fingertips, one by one, his eyes locked on hers as his lips gradually warmed against her skin. He knees went weak, though she tried not to melt against him. "I wish to do it again," he said, his voice velvet soft.

Giggling as he spun them, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Truly? I can not say I cared for your attire the last time we wed."

"Neither did I," he did not bother to hide his disgust. "I promise to dress more appropriately this time." He turned, dipping her deeply. She relaxed into his hold, feeling weightless, effortless.

He lowered himself over her until his lips brushed her throat. "I just cannot decide whether we should wed before or after my father wakes."

She stiffened slightly as he raised her back to standing. "So soon?" She asked, her tone light, her feet feeling very heavy as she walked across the room to pour herself a glass of wine.

He stayed where he was, watching her with cautious eyes. "Perhaps. I thought it might do him good to see us when he wakes. To know that his kingdom was secure in his absence, and…" he smiled that hopeless smile he had, the one that always broke her heart. "And that I married the most beautiful woman in Asgard and she bore me two fine sons."

She drank deeply before smiling back at him. "Why do we even have to? I hate being the center of attention."

"Because it would be good for Asgard, love." He approached her, his hands spread in an imploring gesture.

"Yes, but what is good for _us_?" She looked up at him, knowing her arguments were weak and scrambling for better ones.

He trailed his fingers over the edges of her neckline, lightly tracing her skin with rapidly-cooling fingertips. "I do not see the separation."

"Everybody will think our sons are bastards." She slid her hands around his waist, curling her fingers in his doublet. _Please, please stop. Do not make me say it._

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingertips coming to rest between her breasts. His skin went ice cold, reaching into her heart. His jaw tightened and she could see his eyes shining with tears. "Are they?" He asked softly.

She stepped back, stunned, as if he had just slapped her. "Loki. Of course they are not. We married."

"Yes," he said, stepping toward her, his temper rising. "We did. But if they are not mine then they are Theoric's bastards."

She set her wine glass down with nerveless fingers, struck dumb. "Loki…" She shook her head, trying to shake his words from her ears. "How could you think such a thing?"

His jaw worked, his eyes blazing with fury as he stepped away from her, throwing his arms wide. "There is a simple way to know for sure, of course." He laughed, his lips curling cruelly. "Tell me, love. You think me so handsome?"

She shrunk away, suddenly wishing the guards had not left. "I do," she said quietly, afraid to look away from him. "You know that."

His eyes burned into hers, green melting into red as his skin began to change. "Look on my real face, love." And his skin deepened into blue as his eyes blazed bright red, his skin roughening with frost. His true Jotun face. The one he had always hidden from her.

She dashed tears from her eyes and straightened, slowly closing the distance between them. "I know, Loki," she whispered, reaching to touch his cheek. His skin was so cold it burned, and she bit her lip to keep from flinching from the pain.

His brow furrowed, but she could not hope to read his expression. She tiptoed and brushed her lips against his, her breath steaming against the chill. The blue melted away, leaving his more familiar form behind as he wrapped her tightly in his arms and crushed his lips to hers.

He broke the kiss, gasping. "How?"

"The twins. They were blue." She tangled her fingers in his hair. "I researched the date of your birth and saw it was when the Allfather returned from Jotunheim."

He laughed helplessly, bordering on hysteria, tightening his hands in her skirts. "You never said a word."

She brushed her fingertips over his cheekbones, knowing it was a lie, an illusion. His true face so cold she could not bear to touch him for long, no matter how much she might want to. "I thought if you wanted to explain, you would have told me."

His smile turned into a grimace of anger. "I did not explain because I did not know," he snarled, shoving her away from him and beginning to pace. "But you did. You just… put it together." His voice raised.

"I do not know what to say," she raised her hands, palms up. "It never occurred to me that it was something unknown to you." She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to feel relief that they had moved on from her real reason for resisting the wedding.

And then he paused, and she opened her eyes to see him looking at her with deep suspicion. Her stomach dropped through the floor. "Then why are you so reluctant."

"I told you," she said, her voice so tentative she knew he would never believe her. "I do not like being the center of attention like that."

He crossed the distance between them in two steps. "Tell. Me. Why." He clenched his fists at his sides.

Trembling, she tried to focus on the thought of their sons. He should know this, too. "Before you returned from Nornheim, when they were babes. Your mother came to me."

"No," he turned his back on her, stalking away.

"She warned me, Loki." She raised her voice, her anger at his unwavering devotion to the Allfather boiling over.

"No, she did not, she never does," he whirled on her, his earlier fury redoubled. "You lie."

"I speak the truth, Loki," she stood straight, the fire of her own anger burning away her fear. "Your father would hurt our children."

"No," he paced faster, shaking his head. "He would not. Not now. Things have changed."

"I will not. As long as he lives, I will not. I hate him!" She shouted.

"You will," he advanced on her. "And you will see the truth. He will welcome my family. He will _love_ them."

She drew herself up to her full height. Which was ridiculous, he still towered over her. He always would. But she drew every scrap of resolve she had and did not shrink back. "I refuse."

He stared at her, shock and pain in his eyes. She longed to touch him, to soothe him, but what he wanted she could not give.

"I could order you," he said, his voice low as if speaking softly would lessen the threat behind it.

The room went so deadly cold her fingers numbed. "You could," she said, just as soft, lifting her chin. "You are king. You can order my body to do anything."

The silence stretched between them, a wall of ice.

"Come home with me," she whispered. Her voice too soft to be heard on the other side of the ice.

"Get out," he snarled, turning his back on her and stalking from the room.


	6. Ask No Questions and I Will Tell No Lies

**Note**: In the RP that inspired this, we've combined a few different plotlines. Loki fell into the Void, rampaged through Midgard, and then died at the hands of Dormammu. At the point this story takes place, the twins are fifteen years old and Loki and Sigyn's marriage is still officially a secret.

* * *

She waits until the door is closed before slumping against it. She is surprised by her tears. _This isn't the first time._

It is a hollow comfort. Yes, this isn't the first time that she had been brought news of Loki's death. But somehow this was different. The last time, she could see that hope still lingered in Thor's heart.

But there was no hope in his gaze this time. Only defeat.

"Mother," Varli steps out of the shadow, his brow furrowed with worry. "Is he really dead this time?"

Sigyn presses her palm to her mouth, trying to choke back the sob that threatens. Fighting to keep her composure. Nori joins his brother, and they both look at her with that same, wary, expression.

Those same green eyes.

She lowers her hand once the storm of tears is no longer threatening. "He is. Prince Loki is dead."

They exchange a glance, one that she knows all too well. She stands up straight and goes to fetch herself a glass of wine. They follow quietly.

They wait until she sits in her favorite chair by the fire, twisting the wedding band on her finger absent-mindedly.

"Are you really a widow, now?" Nori asks.

Sigyn nods.

Varli sits on the floor by her feet, like he used to do when he was small. She reaches down to stroke her fingers through his hair.

"Is that why the glamours are fading?" Varli asks, looking at his hands, tinged with blue.

Sigyn nods and sips her wine. Nori hovers next to her before sitting on the chair beside her, like he used to do when he was small. Except now he has grown taller than her, and so she lays her cheek on his shoulder.

"Are you going to marry again?" Nori asks.

"Never," Sigyn says, voice quiet but firm. She sips her wine. "No matter what my lord father says."

They are both quiet for a time.

"Do you regret it?" Varli asks finally.

She shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak until the tears are no longer threatening. "How could I?" She whispers. "He gave you to me."

And so they remained until the flames died to coals, to embers, to ash.


	7. Living in the Space Between the Lines

She ended up in the seedy bar with a stranger, a small man with a world of weariness and pain in his eyes, and the gloom and cigar smoke surrounding them, because she was lost. She expected this would happen, sooner or later. Loki would go somewhere she could not follow. Because she was not as powerful as he was, or as driven, or as mad. Because he would tire of her, or forget her, or just find her boring. This was not a surprise.

She still was unprepared.

It takes a lot for an Aesir to drink themselves into oblivion but that was what she was attempting to do. Logan, her sage-like company for the evening, seemed to be set on a similar course, with the same obstacle of needing more alcohol than the bar could provide to reach that goal. Idle words filled the silence between them, grasping at the contact, staving off the loneliness for just a little while longer. Just one more drink. Logan seemed content to answer all of her questions. She could always come up with more questions. And every once in a while, he would offer a question of his own.

"So, is everyone a God o' somethin' in Asgard? I ain't really very.. informed on that whole business. "

She tossed back her drink and considered her words before answering. It was a complicated answer. "Technically, yes. Though it is impolite to discuss. There are some who are gods of impressive things, like thunder or fertility. And there are some who are gods of unimpressive things. Like biscuits. Or hairdos. Why cause embarrassment or pride over something beyond one's control? It is one's actions that are important.

"Also, it is frustrating when everybody knows what you're the deity of and makes assumptions accordingly. 'Oh, there's Radrag. He is frowning because he is the god of unexpected delays and so he was late again.' But perhaps Radrag is frowning because his child is sick or he lost a bet.  
"It is a messy thing, an artifact of an older time. A curiosity shared with those closest to you and nothing more."

Logan nods and orders another drink.

And what she didn't say, because this man was a stranger and not the one closest to her, is that she always knew. The pull in her heart would bind herself to the person she chose irrevocably. And from the moment Loki first smiled at her, and her heart skipped a beat, and that feeling tugged her toward him, she knew what lay in store.

So she spurned him, denied him, resisted him. She had to. It was madness. He was so taken with her and she was so afraid. His exploits were infamous, his conquests numerous, and his demons abounded. And if she gave in, she would be bound to him long after he had moved on.

As his image flickered on the television, footage from his rampage across this realm, and the attempt to recover afterward, she felt that same tug on her heart. And remembered that night, when he stood in her bedchamber, pale and perspiring and apologetic, and told her she did not have to, that he did not expect anything. And in that moment she had made a choice.

The first step toward him sealed her fate. The rest followed easily.

She puffed her cigar as the news moved on to the sports report, to her great relief. "Have you ever been married, friend Logan? Or in love?"

Logan ran his hand through his hair and ordered another drink before answering. "Yeah. Married a couple of times. In love a few more. Mostly it ends with someone dyin', and since I'm still here, well." He paused, and drank, and collected himself. "Yourself?"

She smiled sadly, glad to have met somebody who knew what she felt, and feeling shame at that happiness. "I was in love once, married once. And I am still here. If you have any wisdom to impart on this topic… I would be glad to hear it."


	8. I Loved You First

**Note:** Sigyn has never been one to talk much about her feelings. And old habits die hard. This story takes place approximately 15 years after kid!Loki happened, and Sigyn and Loki have reunited.

* * *

Sigyn knows it doesn't matter to Loki. (Like most things that are of such vital importance to her.) It will happen and he will be pleased and then go about his day as if something monumental had not shifted within her. As if she should ignore the impulse to lock herself in a closet and fold in on herself until her heart calmed and her belly stopped quaking.

There had been times, of course, when she had felt the impulse to give voice to her feelings. But the words always died in her throat. She knew all her reasons for reluctance seemed perfectly valid and important at the time. But now that he was back, again, she found herself gripped with fear at the idea that he might die, again, and she would be left, again, with the sickening regret of having never said such simple words.

Words that did not matter to him, but would represent such a monumental shift to her.

She decides to practice in anticipation. She whispers the words to herself when she is apart from him, closing her eyes and imagining his face, pressing her fingers to her lips and breathing the words softly like a prayer.

Then she tries to say it when he's in the apartment. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye to make sure he's preoccupied and then mouths the words silently. He almost sees her a few times, turning to ask something or call her over or springing up impulsively for a kiss.

Finally, she waits until he is asleep, which is exceedingly rare. But sometimes his passion exhausts him, and he lies in her arms in a deep, still slumber. And then she presses her lips to his forehead and breathes the words into his hair.

She trembles as she does this, blinking tears from her eyes. He stirs and awakens. "Something wrong, love?" He asks, folding her close in his arms. The word slipping easily past his lips. Because it doesn't really matter to him.

"No," she says, pressing her face to his chest, hoping he will do her the courtesy of ignoring her damp lashes. "Everything is fine."

She clings to him, and when her trembling eases he drops off to sleep once more. "I love you," she whispers to his heart, her lips brushing the cool skin. "I love you."


	9. Rabbit Run

This is what Varli remembers

He is struggling to keep up with his father. Who walks ahead, taking long, easy strides.

* * *

His father is a great man. Varli knows that as surely as he knows his mother's love, as surely as he knows the sounds Nori makes in his sleep, as surely as he knows his own name.

His mother says he is like his father and Varli is proud. He wants to be just the same when he is grown. Handsome and tall. Brilliant and charming. A great magister. The greatest magister the realm has ever seen.

"Teach me," he begs, tugging on his father's doublet.

His father does, gladly.

* * *

The grass comes up to Varli's waist. Maybe one day he will be as tall as his father, but he is still a child. He struggles to keep up.

* * *

As great as his father is, he is also troubled in equal measure. Ambitious, impulsive, thoughtless. His mother accepts this. Endures this.

There is a look that appears on his mother's face every time his father hurts her. A look of quiet acceptance.

Varli cannot stop the rage that boils over every time. "Why do you just accept it, Mother?" He demands, his fists clenching.

"It is his nature, my sweet one." She says calmly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You cannot expect somebody to change to suit you simply because you love them, and they love you."

And it is true. But still he fights it.

* * *

He knows that if he says something, if he calls out to his father, he will turn and see how far he is lagging behind. He will slow down, wait, lift him up on his shoulders so he does not have to struggle.

Varli stays silent, his heart in his throat. His father does not look back.

* * *

His father dies. It is unthinkable. A howling void of uncertainty opens at his feet and he cannot find his way through. There are days, more often than he likes to admit, that he simply forgets that it ever happened. It is a reality so unimaginable his mind refuses to accept it.

And then they go to Midgard and he is confronted with his father's new form. A boy younger than he is. With no memory of him or his brother or their mother.

There are days when it is all he can do to keep his hands at his sides and not beat the younger boy.

The years pass and he looks at himself in the mirror. He grows into his manhood before the boy does. He sees his father's face in the mirror.

He sees the look in Sif's eye when she looks upon them. Wistful and troubled.

The boy says he refuses to grow into the man he was. Varli wonders if he has a choice. If any of them ever had a choice.

* * *

He struggles to keep up as the grass grows taller, to his chest. His father is so far ahead that Varli is not sure he would hear him even if he did cry out for help.

Tears of frustration sting his eyes.

* * *

He does not want to hurt his mother. He does not want Sif's fears to be realized. He does not want to give in to the glimmer of interest that he cannot deny every time Angrboda mockingly offers him a dragon child.

The others do not call him by his name. They call him Lokison. As is that encapsulates the whole of his identity. Angrboda says he is a pale copy of the man that was. The boy soon grows into manhood and outstrips Varli in both power and influence.

Nori drifts further, following a path that Varli cannot understand. "If you accept your fate, brother, you will know peace." Nori says, calm and remote as he slowly sharpens one of his blades. "Our fates are immutable."

It is easy for Nori to accept these things. His brother could not be more different from their father if he had actually been sired by Theoric like their mother had claimed for so long. When Nori looks in the mirror, he sees a man who merely resembles their father, like any son resembles his father. Even one such as theirs.

Varli grows a beard. Because he can. Because his father cannot.

* * *

Varli stands in the chest-high grass. It extends around him in an endless plain. He can no longer see his father anywhere. His legs tremble with exhaustion and he weeps angrily, lost and afraid.

* * *

The guilt over Ragnarok gnaws at his gut and he finds it difficult to eat. He grows leaner, is a shadow of his brother.

He turns his anger at his father. Picking on trivialities to hide the true source. Unable to admit the part he had in the disaster. To ask him if it is true. If he had been planning on Varli to be the catalyst. If he had been groomed from birth to fulfill his father's plans.

If he ever had a choice.

If his daughter will ever have a choice.

"Do let me know when you're ready to stop blaming everyone else for your own failings, Varli." His father says, his face hard. "That will be an interesting day."

His vision goes white with rage. But then Nori arrives with Varli's daughter. And he controls himself. For her sake.

* * *

The sun is setting when Varli is found, not far from where he was when he lost sight of his father. He has stopped crying, though his face is still tearstained and dusty.

His father crouches before him, his brow furrowed. "Why did you not say something?" He asks. Not accusing, simply confused.

Varli tries to calm his shaky breathing, and rubs at his eye. A welter of confusing emotions boil within him. He does not know. He feels as if he does not come up with a reason, he will disappoint his father.

"I did not notice how far ahead you were until it was too late," he says, looking away.

They both know this is a lie. And somehow, Varli knows that is an even greater disappointment than if he had simply admitted that he did not have a reason.

"Your mother is sick with worry," his father smooths a hand over his hair and wipes away a few stray tears. "Let us return to her." He rises and offers a hand.

Varli gets to his feet. He is so tired he cannot feel his legs. He clings to his father's hand and stumbles through the grass that is nearly over his head but he refuses to ask for aid.

Eventually, out of annoyance at their slow pace or sympathy for his exhaustion, or perhaps both, his father lifts him in his arms and carries him the rest of the way home.

Varli curls his fingers in his father's tunic, unsure whether to feel gratitude or shame.


	10. Don't Cry, Don't Raise Your Eye

Notes: At this point in the story, Thor, Loki, Sif, the Warriors Three, Sigyn and the twins are all living together in one large estate in New York. This is after Loki has been reincarnated as a twelve year old but before Ikol regained control of his body. The woman that Nori refers to is, in fact, Kate Bishop, whom he encountered at the Avengers Mansion when delivering a message for Steve Rogers.

* * *

Nori had been sent on an errand so routine and menial that Varli had elected to stay home and work on drafting a design he had taken as an independent study.

However, Nori's significantly changed demeanor upon his return made it clear that something profound had happened to him in the midst of carrying out his duties that day.

It was his brother's habit upon returning to greet all who were about, giving special attention to Theo and Mother, before going to the kitchen and shadowing whomever was preparing the evening meal, assisting when directed and stealing tidbits when the cook in question's back was turned. He then would help Varli set the table and they would eat with the others.

On the day of the profound change, Nori headed straight up the stairs without greeting anybody. Theo followed close behind, whining in confusion and concern. Nori ignored the hound, went to the room he shared with Varli, and lay face-down on the floor.

And he remained there, immobile, for hours.

"Ah, Nephew!" Thor grinned and clapped his hand on Varli's shoulder hard enough to smart. But Varli was prepared and so did not flinch. This time. "Has your brother returned from the Mansion of the Avengers? I have not seen him since he departed several hours ago."

Varli attempted to move quickly as he set the table, which was taking him twice as long without Nori's aid. "He did return, but shut himself away in our room upon arrival and has not stirred nor spoke since." He frowned. "In truth, I am concerned for his health."

Thor and Sif exchanged a glance that spoke volumes, none of which Varli understood. He took a breath and mentally prepared himself for a series of half-truths and non-answers. "Did your brother speak to anybody while on this errand?" Sif asked, her tone so casual Varli knew this was the vital question.

"I do not know," Varli shrugged. "As I said, he has not stirred nor _spoke_ since his return."

"Mind your tone, my son," Sigyn corrected sharply as she sat down at her customary spot. "If Nori refuses to join us for supper then he may go hungry until he is willing to share our company again."

All the adults deferred to Sigyn's wishes when dealing with himself and his brother, and Varli knew that Thor and Sif would no longer speak of what was happening with Nori now that Sigyn had made her pronouncement.

So he would have to wait until after dinner to ask his brother.

* * *

Of course, after dinner he was tasked with cleaning up. Alone. As Loki had run off before anybody could suggest that help, and Nori had still not left his room, and cleaning up after supper was a task for children.

The one benefit to being left alone at this task was that he could surreptitiously prepare a plate for Nori. Mother and Uncle were both firm on the rule that they must all eat together, and that none were to eat alone or in their rooms. But Varli knew this was a dire occasion, and not just petulance or distraction that led Nori to skip the meal.

He slipped up the servant's staircase, just in case anybody was in the foyer or see him from the living room and scold him for breaking the rules. He got to their room without being stopped and shut the door behind him. "Are you hungry, brother? Volstagg made applesauce with the meal today. With cinnamon. I believe this is one of your particular favorites."

Nori was still laying face-down on the floor and did not move or speak or even look at him. Although it was apparent that he had managed to move at some point because there was music playing from the stereo. Some dirgelike Midgardian song, the singer droning _It's so shameful of me, I like you_…

Varli suppressed a shudder and turned his attention to Nori. "Brother are you asleep? Are you ill? Shall I ask Mother to fetch a doctor?"

Nori was again silent for a long time. Varli was about to ask another question when he finally spoke. "No doctor can heal me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That sounds quite dire," Varli sat cross-legged on the floor next to him and sat the plate near his face. "Did you see there are also potatoes mashed with gravy?"

"Food turns to ashes in my mouth. The very thought of it curdles my stomach. I do not wish to eat." Nori pushed listlessly at the plate.

Varli narrowed his eyes and pushed the plate back. After all he risked to get the food to the room he could at least _thank_ him. "Did you notice the roast chicken? It is quite spicy. Spicy enough even to please you. Which I know for a fact because everybody else said it was too strong and you are a masochist."

Nori turned over on his back and stared at the ceiling, his eyes tortured. "Brother. The axis upon which my world has shifted. I will never be the same."

Varli was quiet for a while, digesting this. The song changed. "_Come Armageddon come Armageddon come…_" the singer droned.

"Did you meet somebody today?" Varli asked finally, wondering if Thor and Sif had the right of it.

Nori made a strangled sound in his throat and covered his face with his hands.

"_Everyday is silent and grey…_" the singer droned.

"Should this not be cause for celebration or… getting up off the floor and maybe calling this person or visiting them?" Varli prodded gently, utterly at a loss.

Nori kept his hands over his face. "She rejected me. She thinks I am a spy."

"What?" Varli blinked. "What did you _do_?"

Nori lowered his hands and looked up at him, lost and hopeless. "I went to the Mansion to deliver the message from Uncle to the Soldier but I got lost and I came across this…" he shook his head. "She is the most amazing woman. Brother. She is beautiful and brilliant and a greater warrior than I could ever dream. She helped to destroy the starship of the Skrulls while you and I were engaging the foot soldiers in melee combat in our living room."

Varli straightened his tunic slightly, his pride ruffled. "Yes, well. It is not as if that was _easy_, you know."

"But she was utterly uninterested in me," Nori continued as if he had not even heard Varli. "Why would she be? How could I hope to impress such a woman? I started asking her questions. I wanted to know everything there was to know about her." The stricken look returned to his eyes. "And then she accused me of attempting to engage in espionage so I… I left."

"Did you try telling her that you are not, in fact, a spy?" Varli arched an eyebrow.

Nori glared at him, irritated. "That is _exactly_ the sort of thing a spy _would_ say, Varli. How does one respond to accusations of espionage that do not reinforce the suspicions. 'My good sir, are you a spy?' 'Of course not!' 'Oh, many thanks for putting my suspicions to rest!'" Nori frowned thunderously and turned back over to his stomach.

Varli sighed. "True. How long did you speak to this woman?"

"Kate." Nori said, his voice muffled by the carpet. "Her name is Kate."

"How long did you speak to this Kate?" Varli was bewildered. He had not been gone that long. At the most he could have spoken to her for a few hours.

"Long enough for my heart to shatter. It is no use." Nori folded his arms over his head. "Leave me to die."

Varli grit his teeth and snatched back the plate. "Fine, if you are so determined to die I will not delay you," he spat and turned on his heel before stomping down the servant stairs to the kitchen.

He had finished vehemently feeding the leftovers to the dogs (Thori licked up the gravy and gobbled the chicken but left the rest. Theo happily devoured what Thori refused) and was engaged with spitefully washing the plate when Sif found him.

"You are troubled, my heart," she stated calmly as she pulled a cheesecake out of the refrigerator and a fork from the drawer.

"Brother has ordered me to leave him to die." Varli glared at the plate.

Sif retrieved a second fork and bumped Varli with her hip, urging him to sit at the table with her.

He sat next to her, close enough that their knees were touching, and accepted the fork. "I do not understand. He says he met some woman this afternoon and that now his life is over." He picked listlessly at the cake.

Sif smiled fondly and swallowed her mouthful of cake before speaking. "It will pass. I promise."

Varli stabbed the cake with his fork and Sif slapped his hand. He rubbed the smart away and then took a more polite forkful. "I cannot bear leaving him like this. I must be able to do something."

Sif smoothed her palm over his hair and her hand rest on the back of his neck, smiling fondly. "You have noble impulses, my heart. But perhaps this is something your brother needs to work through on his own."

Varli frowned. "What if he does not? What if he… gets _lost_?"

Sif shrugged. "What if he does? Will you simply abandon him?"

"Of course not!" Varli's eyes widen, the shock of her words as sharp as a slap in the face. "I would never abandon my brother!"

She smiled as if her heart were breaking. "Then what will you do?"

He chewed thoughtfully. "I wish to give him a map."

"Sometimes a light to find one's own way is better than a map." She rested her chin on her hand and watched him, a fond smile hovering on her lips.

"Fine, a light then!" He waved his hands. "The metaphor is irrelevant. There is a shop near here, he always makes sure our path takes us past it. He looks at the instruments displayed there. I believe he desires one."

She tilted her head and looked at him, her eyes thoughtful. "Why an instrument?"

"My brother does not express himself with words, you know this." He tapped his finger on the table. "When he is feeling thoughtful, he draws. When he is angry or frustrated or upset, he hits things. When he is happy, he runs or dances. When he is sad, he writes poetry. But he has not written anything. This concerns me. I feel if he had something to encourage him to express himself, he would have an easier time finding his way through."

"You are a thoughtful brother." She got up and began tidying the rest of the kitchen. "I am sure your efforts will not be remiss. Now, go see to your studies before I tell your mother you are neglecting them."

"Yes, my lady," Varli scampered quickly, not willing to risk his mother's wrath or Sif's deciding to make him finish cleaning up.

* * *

The shop itself was small and cramped and filled with a bewildering array of instruments, both electronic and not. Nothing looked even remotely familiar. The large stringed instruments that Nori had displayed such great interest in looked like they could be lutes but were far too big to actually be lutes.

He straightned his tunic and smiled his best smile at the surly, bald, scruffy shop owner, who was standing behind the counter with his tattooed arms crossed.

"Hello, my good man." Varli spread his hands and strode in as if he were perfectly comfortable. "This is a marvelous shop, you have many fine wares."

The man grunted and narrowed his eyes at him. "You need somethin'?"

"Of course!" Varli chuckled amiably. "That is why I have come to see you today." He leaned on the counter, totally casual. Totally at home and not at all like an exiled alien god prince in a strange realm thrust into a situation he was in no way prepared to navigate.

"You one of them Asgard kids?" The shopkeeper's skeptical look bordered on a glare. "I seen you lookin' in the windows. And that … little one been in here a few times."

"I am of Asgard, yes!" Varli kept smiling. "You have noticed myself and my brother, Nori. It is actually on his behalf that I have come to speak with you today."

The shopkeeper glared in truth. "What about the little one?"

Varli waved his hand dismissively. "The young prince is not one of my brothers and not why I am here."

"Alright." The shopkeeper tilted his head back eyed him with obvious suspicion. "What's up with your brother, then?"

"Nori, my brother, that is, has long desired one of your fine instruments. He has been saving up the funds necessary to purchase one and pay for lessons but I wish to expedite this process as a gift to him."

"Classes are twenty-five bucks a pop, three times a week. Unless you want a private lesson, then it's a hundred."

Varli shook his head. "No, no. I wish for him to be in a class."

The shopkeeper's eyebrow arched slightly. "Which axe he got his eye on?"

"I am not sure but I believe one of the…" Axe? The name of this instrument was '_axe_'? "Axes that do not require to be, ah, plugged in. Would suffice."

"So an acoustic." The shopkeeper trundled out from behind the counter and led him over to the display of acoustics. "Which hand does he play with?"

"We are sinister." Varli said, eying the instruments closely, trying to determine what differentiated one from the other.

"What?" The shopkeeper glared.

Varli blinked. "His left hand is dominant," he said, wiggling the fingers of his left hand to illustrate the point.

The man grunted and nodded. "Lefthand guitars here."

Varli's eye was immediately drawn to a gleaming, black lacquered beauty of a an instrument with elegant gold detail. "That one." It was the one. There could be no other.

"That's six hundred bucks." The shopkeeper grabbed the instrument by the neck and held it up to him. "You can afford that, kid?"

He could not. "Of course I can." He tested the size of the instrument. It fit neatly in his hands, and the shopkeeper nodded approvingly.

The man went back behind the counter, pulling out a black carrying case lined with purple felt and began writing up a bill of sale. "So how many lessons you want?"

Varli handed him the guitar, pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and began to count it out. It was the last of his share of the winnings from the time they had joined the dice game in the alley. Which they were now banned from. _Mortals are such sore losers_. "So, six hundred for the instrument itself and at least seventy-five for the first week of lessons would bring us to six hundred seventy-five, yes?"

"Plus tax, yeah. Nine percent in the city." The shopkeeper watched him closely.

"So that brings the total to $735.75?" Varli looked up at the shopkeeper.

"Yeah." He frowned. "You do that in your head?"

Varli shrugged. "Simple arithmetic." Of course the other bit of simple arithmetic was that he only had $575.

"So." The shopkeeper looked at him expectantly.

"So." Varli tapped his finger on the counter. "You know it occurs to me that you will benefit from this arrangement."

"Say what now?" The cordial professionalism Varli had managed to wring out of the man evaporated and the cold, hard air of suspicion returned.

"You know." Varli spread his hands and shrugged. "The whole 'dangerous Asgardian' thing appeals to quite a few of the young, impressionable types. And my brother and I are identical, so you are aware that he is very handsome. I believe his presence in your classes will attract more students. He is very good at the brooding artist sort of look. Like this." Varli pouted a little and did his best imploring eyes, performing a remarkably good imitation of his brother. Though it would have been more remarkable if they weren't identical.

"Stop screwing around, kid." The shopkeeper grabbed the money and started counting.

Varli chuckled amiably. "I should be asking for a finder's fee."

"You should be getting the hell out." The shopkeeper cast a baleful eye. "You're sixty bucks short."

"Look." Varli dispensed with the act, sacrificed his dignity and began pleading in earnest. "My brother has had his heart broken by some Midgardian woman and is now completely intolerable. He will not stop sighing and laying on the floor whilst listening to decades-old musical recordings. I need him to get out of the house. I_need_ him to learn this instrument. I need him to meet other girls. Or boys. Or—" He almost said 'horses' but then stopped himself. Mortals were always so pedestrian when it came to these things. "Whatevers. _Please_. I am begging you. What I am offering is _everything_ I have."

The shop keeper tilted his head and eyed Varli appraisingly. "What's he listening to?"

"Some relentlessly dreary man who goes by the name 'Morris Sea' or something." Varli shuddered. "Sometimes he breaks up the monotony with a group that goes by the name of 'The Cure'. I do not know how they are allowed to operate under such false assertions. They only seem to make him worse."

The shop keeper's lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile. "I'll take him on."

"Excellent!" Varli clapped his hands together, grinning widely. "You will not regret this, my good man."

"If I have to kick him out there's no refund." The shopkeeper said, his tone flat.

"Believe me, Nori is bewilderingly obedient." Varli laughed.

"I'm giving you a steep discount, kid. Maybe you should take the guitar and get out of here before I change my mind." The man shook his head as if he were already having second thoughts.

"But of course." Varli grabbed the receipt and the instrument and bowed. "I promise you, you will not regret this!"

"Hit the bricks, kid. Tell your brother his first class is on Tuesday at three."

* * *

Varli cut across the park, wasting no time in delivering his hard-earned prize back to his twin. Who was exactly as he left him, in their room, wallowing in heartbreak and terrible music, Theo curled up beside him whimpering softly in concern.

"What is this?" Varli tried, and failed, to disguise his disgust. _It's their home and I'm welcome no more_ the singer trilled, while somehow also droning the song like a dirge.

"They call themselves The Smiths," Nori mumbled, still face-down on the floor.

"Smiths?" Varli tilted his head. "What sort of smiths? Gold? Silver? Black?"

Nori's shoulders tensed. "I do not know. They simply are smiths."

Varli tried listening. He reminded himself to keep an open mind and to listen to what his brother was taking solace in as a means to better understand him. _And if a double-decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die_trill-droned the singer over piping flutes.

It was unbearable. "What a lovely sentiment."

Nori made a strangled sound.

"Brother, if you could perhaps look up, I have something here you might be interested in." Varli set the case down next to Nori and rubbed a smudge from the case's trim with his sleeve.

"Nothing interests me." Nori declared in a hopeless voice. "There is nothing left for me in the realm of the living."

"Well," Varli sighed. "I suppose I could inquire about having this instrument delivered to Helheim, then. Because I do not believe lying on the floor until you die of a broken heart qualifies you for Valhalla, I hope you are keeping that possibility in mind."

"I do not deserve Valhalla." Nori mumbled. "Wait. What instrument?" He looked up, and immediately zeroed in on the case. "What is that?"

"This, Brother, is what is known as an acoustic guitar." Varli grinned proudly as he snapped open the latches and lifted the lid. "A left-handed one, specifically. Apparently there's a difference. I tested the size, so it should fit comfortably. The shopkeeper assures me it is of the highest quality."

Nori sat up, his brow furrowing as he began to fret. Varli steeled himself for the objections. "Where did you get this? Did you steal it?"

Varli narrowed his eyes. "Of course I did not. Here is the bill of sale. I purchased it with my share of the winnings."

"But you were supposed to use that for you." Nori's eyes grew even more fretful as he frowned.

"I did." Varli tried to control his rising irritation. "Stop questioning my choices."

"I do not know how to play." Nori turned his face back to the floor.

"You will." Varli assured him. "Once you begin attending classes. I have already paid for the first week, and your first lesson is on Tuesday at three o'clock."

Nori was quiet for a long time. _But fresh lilaced moorland fields, cannot hide the stolid stench of death _trill-droned the mush mouthed singer.

"Hela's saggy tits how do you listen to this," Varli muttered.

"You truly believe I will be able to play?" Nori said finally.

"Of course you will!" Varli threw his hands up. "You take to new skills faster than anybody I have ever known."

"Not magic." Nori lifted his head, frowning.

"Then it is fortunate that this is a mortal instrument and thus does not require magic to play." Varli lifted the guitar out of the case and offered it to him. "Perhaps with time you can play heartbreaking songs for the maiden in question, and thus win her over."

Nori slowly sat up, and Theo began yapping in excitement and wagging her tail so hard her entire backside wiggled. "I very much doubt that, Brother." Nori said, his eyes mournful though he reached for the instrument. "And I would be a fool to try."

"I think she is already the fool." Varli pursed his lips. Clearly the women was an idiot if she rejected Nori.

But Nori was no longer listening. He was strumming his fingers over the strings and pulling a plaintive, aimless tune from the instrument. "This pleases me," he stated in his soft and self-assured way.

Varli beamed. "I shall leave you to it, then." He got to his feet and made for the door. "But do not leave me to the evening chores alone _again_."

"What is Fandral making for dinner?" Nori looked up, suddenly fearful. "He is not making fish chowder, is he?"

Varli shook his head. "Meatballs. And you _know_ Fandral makes the best meatballs."

Nori strummed thoughtfully. "I will aid him. He makes the meatballs well but he does not like mushrooms and never puts enough in the gravy."

Varli smiled so hard his face hurt. "Very well. I will leave you to it."

He then slipped out of the room and skipped down the stairs, his heart light with the feeling of a job well-done, when Loki stopped him on the landing.

"Is Nori really dying?" He asked, his brow furrowed and his lips turned down an fretful look reminiscent of the one Nori made all the time.

"Did he tell you he was?" Varli snorted. "He was exaggerating."

Loki grabbed his sleeve and stopped him from moving. "What is _wrong_ with him?"

"He puts too much stock in the opinions of a simple-minded mortal maiden." Varli sneered, not bothering to hide his contempt for the woman ultimately at fault, by his estimation.

"Wait. She rejected Nori?" Loki's look grew even more concerned. "Soft-spoken, bashful smile, sad eyes, dashing warrior, soulful poet, perfect hair _Nori_?"

Varli grit his teeth. "Yes."

Loki's eyes widened and he looked out into the middle distance. "There is no hope for any of us."

Varli shook Loki's hand off of his arm. "Why do you care about this? You are_married_. To _Mother_."

"She describes herself as a widow so I am fairly confident that is no longer the case." Loki tilted his head. "You know I feel oddly insulted by this?"

"I am sure Nori appreciates you taking offense on his behalf." Varli rolled his eyes. "Are we done? I was hoping to get back to my studies."

Loki frowned at the bedroom door. "You are certain he is going to be alright?"

"Positive. I bought him a guitar. He will be so thoroughly enraptured with learning a new skill that he will forget all about the idiot." Varli straightened his tunic.

Loki looked up at him for a long moment. "You are a good brother."

Something stirred in Varli's heart. A tug of longing. Or maybe regret. "Thank you, Father." He felt his cheeks grow hot with a flush. "But I have my studies."

And he continued down the stairs and to the library, too fast for Loki to stop him.


End file.
